Il mio orto

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Sundays’ poems are dedicated to Italian Poetry

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il mio orto a spirale

ha prodotto abbondanza

.

nascondendo la struttura

non percorribile

.

nel suo pieno arrivata

la stagione

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Se gradite ascoltare la versione audio e video della performance cliccate qui.

If you wish to hear and see the video of the poetic performance click here.

Yes, on Tuesday poems will be in English, as usual!

Sì, il martedì le poesie, come sempre, saranno pubblicate in inglese!

Now

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now it’s my turn

to be sitting on

a park bench

alone listening

something is coming

what is is coming

.

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This was the only English poem performed on my first poetic reading after the Covid-19 lockdown, last weekend, when asked to do a public reading during the finissage of an art show Called Opulenza Vegetale (Vegetable Opulence). The performance took place in an old site, a church dated 1289, in Italy. If interested in a short video click here, Now.

Dedicated To Generation Female

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lead me my heart

where I am welcomed

.

with joy and gratitude

hold me there with laughter

.

pin me with sweet thoughts

of greatness so that I may

.

shine forever not lamenting

nor lacking lead me

.

to my own

independence

.

The poem, written in August, I dedicate to all the people participating to the Generation Female Global Summit where I will be one of the speakers! I hope to see you there, tomorrow, where you can ask me questions or hear my story, it would be lovely. Please click here to enroll.

Il posto giusto

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Sundays are dedicated to Italian Poetry.

Vi invito a vedere e ad ascoltare questa poesia, Il posto giusto tratta dal libro bilingue California Notebooks 02 cliccando qui. Questa è la poesia di pagina 50.

Sì, la domenica le poesie sono in italiano e il martedì in inglese.

Tuesday poems will be published in English as usual.

If you own the bilingual book I wrote, California Notebooks 02, this poem in on page 50.

Come With Me

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Come with me today to my poetry reading in the Coachella Valley in California!

It will take you only 3’09” to be with me and virtually fly there as I introduce you to my poems.

The book I’m reading from, California Notebooks 01 was written there. I wanted to give back to the desert, with this reading, the inspiration it bestowed on me.

This book is dedicated

to those souls whose flesh is too tight

to those whose dreams are real and reality seems

to be a dream

Poetry Reading Here

Do subscribe to my YouTube channel too, please, as there will be more poetic work posted there as well. I will appreciate that as well as you comments here below or on youtube.

Together we rock!

Thank you 🙏

Agosto inedito

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Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry

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il sole agostano

forte

penetra il fogliame

sangue

di ombre sulla terra

.

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Tuesday Poems will be in English as usual.
Sì, la domenica le poesie saranno in italiano.

In Spite Of Me

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when my words
surfacing out of
poetry define
who am I
I cry

I also
rejoice and
stand still as
if suspended
all at the same
exact

time holding
that tiny particle
of truth inside me
that shining in spite
of me

.

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Seasons

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I end up at times

visiting old friends

dinners stretching

.

over time feeding

our souls

the privilege

.

of recalling

the spirit’s

visitations

.

our hearts

a candle burning

quietly

.

steadily shaking

in the evening

breeze leaves

.

we are made to fall

and to die

full of colors

.

when it’s season

.

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“Not Rosaries Nor Missals” is a collections of poems started on July 2013. This poem comes from that collection.

l

Everlasting

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life as a bird

an egg in a nest

in unexpected

 

places hidden

cared for and guarded

with parental

 

love cracking to

the first light revelation

being fed and

 

taught to sing

before I could fly out

into everlasting

.

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Come muore un cane

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Sunday’s posts are dedicated to Italian Poetry

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come muore un cane

rannicchiato sempre

più stretto tra lunghi sonni

camminando a malapena

su due gambe quelle davanti

tremando quando mangia

sempre più stanco sempre

più piccolo che quasi

lo puoi prendere in braccio

dolcemente ti cerca

con gli occhi per un bacio

in più e la tua fronte sul suo naso

e per quell’attimo fermo silenzioso

prima dei miei complimenti

che incartano il magone

quella certezza che ogni

giorno insieme sia un dono

quel suo muoversi poco

sempre meno anche per

raggiungere il sole che scalda

le ossa storte doloranti

quel sospirare a fondo

quando racconta al gatto

qualcosa mentre lo segue

con gli occhi io cerco lui

e lo osservo immobile

per scovare il prossimo

respiro nella cassa toracica

ben delineata dalla magrezza

in mezzo a questa dolcezza

tra sorrisi mesti e lacrime

trattenute dentro come i fiori

che si chiudono la sera

come muore un cane

di vecchiaia

.

.

.

Ho scritto questa poesia a Giugno e la mia cagnolina fedele è morta l’11 Luglio 2020, ieri, dentro un corpo vecchio ma mi ha voluto, fino al suo ultimo respiro vicino a lei, tra carezze e sussurri e quello stupore immobile finale.

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